


Enough

by SparklingDragonTears



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 150_prompts, Future Fic, Gratuitous use of italics, M/M, NaNoWriMo Warmup, Peter loves Stiles, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Stiles loves kids, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklingDragonTears/pseuds/SparklingDragonTears
Summary: Prompt 54. "It hurts so much."The thing was, Stiles wasgreatwith kids. No one really noticed, because, well, there were rarely children around.“I see you look at them too.”Peter shook his head, sniffing against tears he knew were building. He didn’t want to see small faces and fingers and shoes and toys. He didn’t want to hear that bright laughter that cut through his head. He didn’t want to hear the high-pitched cries that broke his heart.But more than anything, he didn’t want to spend one more Father’s day listening to Stiles hide his tears when he thought Peter was asleep, knowing he was unwinding a little more every day and being unable to twist him back together.
Relationships: Implied Peter Hale/Chris Argent, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, implied Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 186
Collections: Snake Noodle's 150 Prompts





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> D/C: TW not mine.  
> Does anyone use disclaimers anymore?  
> \--  
> Number 54. "It hurts so much."
> 
> Stiles is 30. Peter is... I dunno. 45? They're the only ones left in BH. No one stays without someone to stay for.
> 
> Enjoy.

The thing was, Stiles was _great_ with kids. No one really noticed, because, well, there were rarely children around. But what most of them didn’t know was that he had a knack for finding lost kids and shepherding them to their mothers, or locating lost toys, or remembering which little faces liked which flavor of ice cream. He didn’t exactly brag about it, because, hey, he still had to be manly, but Stiles was actually the go-to sitter for most of the kids in his neighborhood. He had been since he was about 10. There were never any teenage girls to watch over the the little ones when parents were away. Instead, Stiles was called upon to entertain them under the eye of Claudia, and eventually, alone.

After they’d all settled down enough to become real adults, Peter found himself once again drawn into the enigma that was Stiles. Scott had finally left to the northern part of the state. And as much as he resented it, Peter knew Stiles felt a certain peace in this town, where he could watch over Sheriff and play guide to whatever lost supernatural found themselves wandering through. He could hear the way Stiles’ heartbeat grew steady when he directed lost souls in McCall’s direction, scented the pride on Stilinski when he successfully got them out of this place. 

Peter wasn’t sure why he stayed. Derek had moved on to Mexico, finally convinced by Cora that home wasn’t a plot of land. He’d watched his nephew break Stiles’ heart time and again, and found himself drawn in to sweep up the pieces, no matter how desperately Stiles tried to hide the fact that he had been shattered. 

Argent had gone overseas again, never one to remain in one place for longer than half a decade. Peter had watched him become stir-crazy, and was finally able to convince him, after tearing him down into a third orgasm in a night, that this town was no place for someone as paranoid as he was. 

Argent used to visited a hotel room about a week a year, a week that Peter made _very_ good use of before sending him on his way around the world again. 

But now, Peter couldn't remember the last time he'd visited. He secretly hoped the hunter had finally cut the anchor weighing him here.

So somehow, the kids all left and Peter was the one who stayed. He’d always told himself this place was nothing, that anywhere else on the damn continent was better than this hell mouth.

And yet.

He found that he couldn’t leave Stiles. It was always fucking Stiles. From the very first night in the woods, when the boy’s pulse called to him through the night, leading him to _true alpha McCall_ , to every mundane Tuesday in this little nowhere of a place. 

And now that Stiles had bloomed from impossibly careless, self-obsessed teenager to impossibly confident, self-assured adult, they had somehow found themselves friends. Peter tried not to think about the fact that Stiles so reminded him of _himself_ that he was almost proud.

That, and that Stiles still had the libido of a teenager, despite being 30. And time and running with monsters had been _very good_ to him. And the fact that _Stiles_ considered _Peter_ to be a good lay did wonders for his already admittedly large ego.

So on an average night, when Peter had nothing to do past work hours, he found himself waiting at the bench across the street from the Daycare Stiles worked at, listening to him somewhere behind the building, laughing and instructing the ankle-biters awaiting their parents.

Peter always wondered why no one had noticed it before, or why Stiles had waited until he was (mostly) alone to work in a place which so obviously made him happy. He could scent the joy when Stiles walked out of the building at 5:30 every afternoon. 

But what killed him was the despair that washed over him sometimes, when they walked past a couple with a stroller, or a toddler in a booster in a restaurant, or a group of kids tossing a frisbee in the park. Peter had no idea how to bring it up, or even what he would say. All he knew was that every time, it hit Stiles harder until the agony in the air was starting to kick Peter’s own heart.

Today was especially worrisome, because Father’s day was this weekend, and Stiles had been talking for weeks about the crafts and books and fucking _cookies_ the kids were going to make for their fathers/caregivers/whatever the hell adult they live with now. 

He was worried, because his own heart ached for an entirely different reason this time every year. He had shoved away the faces of his own lost children into a lonely, burnt-out corner of his mind, blockaded by layers of magic he had spent a significant amount of money to obtain. He allowed himself only Malia, who was only mildly estranged by this point in their lives. That pain was nearly more than he could handle, combined with the empty shells of memories of 20 years ago. 

It was hard for him to admit he needed his own support. Stiles always seemed to know, and made it a point to spend the morning with Sheriff and the afternoon and night with Peter. 

They didn’t talk about the fact that they always spent the night fucking like they could make children of their own. 

Peter watched a boy, about 10, walking into the front of the brightly-colored building with his mother. A few moments later, he could hear Stiles’ laughter and greeting to the child, apparently someone he’d known from when the boy had been in that very Daycare.

Hard to believe it had been a decade of passing years in this place.

When Stiles finally stepped into the setting sun’s blinding light, he held a hand over his eyes, searching for where he knew Peter would be waiting.

As he crossed the street, looking both ways like the kids he worked with, it suddenly struck Peter to wonder how many years of being exclusive to one another it took before they were considered a couple. Probably about 6 less than they had going for them.

And every damn day, Stiles’ smile still lit a fire in his heart.

“Why do you stay here if it makes you sad?” However he’d meant to breach the subject, that hadn’t been his plan.

Stiles looked down to the ground with a shrug. He jerked his head down the sidewalk, in the direction they liked to walk home. Peter followed, trying to figure out how to backpedal the question.

“You know why.” Stiles looked at Peter sideways through those damned long lashes. He was quiet a moment, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “I see you look at them too.”

_That_ nearly stopped Peter’s heart. He swallowed, unable to meet Stiles’ eye.

“Why don’t you just have one?” Peter asked, feeling somewhat flayed under the amber gaze.

Stiles scoffed a chuckle.

“Um, gay, remember?” He waved a hand over himself in a theatric manner, but it only served to make Peter’s heart ache.

He stopped short and caught Stiles’ elbow with one hand.

“Tell me you don’t believe that.” He looked over Stiles’ pointedly raised eye brows and had the urge to smack some sense into him. “No, you’re too damn smart to believe that.”

Stiles pulled his arm back and turned to keep walking. Peter followed him, not about to let this drop.

“How many of those kids have gay fathers?” he demanded. Stiles turned his face away, but slowed his stride for Peter to walk comfortably beside him. 

He mumbled in the way he did when he only wanted Peter to hear it with wolf senses, and didn’t even want to hear the thought himself.

“ _They wouldn’t be mine._ ” 

Peter stopped him again, fingers at the back of his neck, scruffing him in a way he only did when Stiles needed to be brought back in line. Stiles submitted immediately, eyes falling to his feet, head bowed, body going lax, despite the anxiety Peter could scent coming from him in waves. He let his voice drop to the low drawl that always forced calm into that erratic heartbeat.

“I refuse to allow you to believe that.” Peter took a heavy breath through his nose. Whoever made Stiles think that was on Peter’s short list. “If that’s what you want, I will make it happen.”

He didn’t know where the promise came from, but when it left his tongue, he knew it was absolutely true. 

Stiles lifted his eyes and searched Peter’s face, whether for truth or a different answer, Peter couldn’t guess. He slowly leaned his head back against Peter’s grip, relaxing into the hold in a way Peter had never seen him relax for anyone else. 

If it made his wolf preen a little, he chose to ignore it.

“ _And you?_ ” The question was whisper-soft, as calculated as the sharp eyes peeling him apart into the rawest scraps, right here in the middle of a downtown sidewalk.

Peter knew exactly what he was asking.

“Stiles…” They’d never talked about it, but Stiles, the nosy little asshole he was, _had_ to know.

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, dropping his hold on Stiles, feeling scolded by the two words. 

Stiles closed soft hands around his, pulling him into the park they walked by. He dragged Peter to a bench under a tree and pulled them into sitting. 

“If we’re having this conversation, we’re going to have it all the way.” 

Peter had no idea when Stiles flipped the switch between annoyingly stubborn and mature, but fuck, if it didn’t just pull his heart out of his chest. Stiles forced eye contact, rubbing a thumb over the back of Peter’s hand.

“You know what I want.” Stiles looked over him in that calculating way that nearly had Peter flinching. “What about you?”

“God, Stiles…” Peter shook his head, sniffing against tears he knew were building. He had paid good money to keep this shit buried inside, damnit. He didn’t want to see small faces and fingers and shoes and toys. He didn’t want to hear that bright laughter that cut through his head. He didn’t want to hear the high-pitched cries that broke his heart.

But more than anything, he didn’t want to spend one more Father’s day listening to Stiles hide his tears when he thought Peter was asleep, knowing he was unwinding a little more every day and being unable to twist him back together.

“ _It hurts so much…_ ” Peter couldn’t even be sure whether he meant the chasm in his own heart, or the one gouged between them.

There were a million things he could say, and none would be right, be _enough_ to convey the intricacies of _them_.

_I want whatever it is you want._   
_I want anything that makes you smile._   
_I want to give you everything._   
_I want you to believe me._   
_I want you to know I mean it._   
_I want you to light my dark._   
_I want you._

And Peter knew it didn’t matter. In the end, _he_ was the one who had stayed. _He_ was the one who would follow Stiles to the ends of the Earth. Whatever Stiles could give him, he would shove into the shadowed corners of his mind, not to take the place of the damage, but to help him rebuild. 

He took Stiles’ face in his hands, apparently unexpectedly, based on the way the dark brows shot upward. 

“ _You_ , Stiles.” He looked over every inch of Stiles’ face, every mole, every dark hair and crease. He never wanted to forget this moment. “I want you.”

Stiles scowled and opened his mouth to protest, but Peter cut him off with a sharp shake of his head.

“I want to give you what you want. In-vitro, adoption, foster, whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.” 

Peter couldn’t decipher the cautious scowl. He swallowed his pride and let the plea ring through his voice.

“You’re too fucking brilliant to not know how I feel,”

“Peter-” 

Peter kept talking, not wanting to stop the train now that it was barreling downhill.

“I don’t need to be there, you can do it alone, you can find a partner, I don’t care. I’ll fund whatever makes you happy.”

He somehow found himself standing over Stiles, hands shaking for a reason he couldn’t understand.

“ _Peter-_ ”

“And every _fucking_ day I watch you fall a little further apart and I can’t do a damn thing about it, so _please_ let me-”

And Stiles’ lips were on his. In the middle of the park. In the daylight. 

They did walks and dinners, coffees and lunches. They did late evenings and long nights. They did lounging and teasing and debating and fucking. They didn’t do affection, not in public. They didn’t _love_.

Except they did. Peter realized they absolutely, always have. 

The way Stiles’ tongue curled around his, the way he found himself clinging to Stiles’ arms like his personal gravity depended on it, the way Stiles shook under his hold told him everything they’d never said over ten, fifteen years.

They didn’t need to say it. They had never needed to.

The whispered _thank you_ , said enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Much love to you all.
> 
> Till next time,  
> -J X


End file.
